


consumed with what's to transpire

by cherryvanilla



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Film, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hot as a fever, rattling bones. I could just taste it.” Post-film. Written for The Meme Where They Do It.</p>
            </blockquote>





	consumed with what's to transpire

**Author's Note:**

> Title, Summary and Lyrics by Kings of Leon.

_If it’s not forever,  
If it’s just tonight,  
Oh it’s still the greatest,  
The greatest_

++++++++++++++++

He’s still standing across from the baggage claim when you turn with your pull cart. “Lose something?” you ask as you walk up to him. You try to sound bored but your brain and body are still thrumming with adrenaline and disbelief that this actually worked.

“That’s a matter of perspective,” he responds, looking you up and down without shame. “Come have a drink me.”

You raise your eyebrows at him and cock your head. “I’m pretty sure it’s unsafe to be fraternizing right now, Mr. Eames.”

“Fraternizing?” he repeats, voice gleeful. “Why, Arthur, you make it sound positively scandalous.”

“It always is with you,” you say, but the words come out heated with desire rather than annoyance.

He stares. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting.”

He’s been pushing your buttons this whole job; been pushing them for years. Its obvious foreplay and you’ve played the part of the offended, long suffering co-worker for so long you started to believe it yourself.

“Perhaps you don’t,” you respond. A beat. “Know better,” you add because -- specificity, after all.

Eames’ eyes widen and he licks his lips. “Where were you headed?” you ask before he has the chance to say something, anything.

“I was planning a flight back to bloody Mombassa but I’ve since changed my mind.”

“It’s important to have ones priorities straight.”

“Don’t I know it,” Eames purrs. It’s the only word to describe it.

“I’ve booked a room at the Hilton. Drinks at the bar in 30?”

“Drinks from your room’s mini-bar in 35,” Eames counteroffers, his voice a low syrupy rumble. The words are a jolt to your dick and you feel yourself start to harden.

You lean in close, staring straight ahead, your mouth next to his ear. “Me pushing you into the mattress in 40,” you whisper. It’s all about raising the stakes, after all.

You can practically feel the shudder coarse through his body. “Unless you want me to bend you over that bloody handcart, I suggest you start heading to a taxi,” Eames growls.

“Room 402,” you breathe and go.

++++++++++++++++

“You look incredible in black,” you pant against his lips and shrug off his jacket. Predictably, you didn’t even make it to the mini-bar. His lips were on yours as soon as you opened the door and you’ve been trying to catch your breath ever since.

“And your penchant for throwing around complements as of late is perplexing to say the least,” Eames nips at your jaw, his hands running up and down your bare chest. He undressed you at super speed, it seemed, and the reason you’ve only gotten his jacket off in return is that you stopped to fold your own jacket, shirt and vest while he leaned back against the door, breathing heavy and shaking his head.

“Perhaps it’s my way of flirting,” you offer and hiss when he nips at your earlobe.

His hand reaches down to cup your erection, rubbing at an achingly slow place. “I prefer a more direct approach.” His breath on your neck causes you to shiver and his fingers feel fucking amazing. You haven’t been this hard in a long time and you want him everywhere now.

So you say it: “I want you,” because he wants direct and it’s time you deliver.

He moans against your throat and pushes you onto the bed. You seem to remember this was supposed to be the other way around but you honestly can’t care when he’s sinking down to his knees between your legs and frantically pulling at your belt and then his hand is inside. The cool air-conditioning of the room assaults your cock. He leans back on his haunches and takes off your shoes and socks, sucking a kiss against your ankle and hauling off your pants and jesus christ you can’t say a word about 3,000 dollar suits. Not when he’s eying you darkly and leaning forward slowly, nipping along your spread thighs and tonguing your balls before finally, finally bracing himself against the bed and lifting up and pushing his mouth down onto you.

You cry out immediately, arching off the bed. It’s horribly embarrassing but you never realized how those full lips would feel, or how tight the heat of his mouth would be when he molded it around you; you never thought that he’d fucking deep throat you in one smooth motion. His hands are everywhere: causing goose bumps on your thighs and causing nail marks on your ribcage and rubbing at your lips in pressure-filled circles until you open for him, moan around his fingers, and suck him in as he’s sucking you.

“Arthur,” he says, breathing into the wet curls of your groin. He licks at the heated skin as his other hand fondles your balls, pushing lower.

You love the way he says your name. The way he draws out the first syllable as though it should never leave his tongue. “My god, Arthur, you’re a sight.” And you can only imagine what you look like right now. You’re sweating, which causes the pomade to loosen; you feel your fringe tickling your brow. And you’re sucking his fingers like they’re your last meal and your face must be flushed because you always flush when you’re turned on. And for christ sake, you’re naked and he’s... he only has his jacket and shoes off. Good god.

You pull your mouth away from his hand with a plop. “Eames,” and you gasp sharply because his tongue... oh god, his tongue is teasing along your crack and he’s jacking you slowly, wrist twisting each time he reaches the head which is now dripping. You have to focus. “Eames,” you say more insistently. “Let me, let me see you,” and that’s it, he had better know what you mean because now your head has fallen back and you’re spreading your legs wider while he goes to town, both hands parting you while his tongue explores in quick, pointed thrusts. You can’t believe he’s doing this; after all, you haven’t even had time to shower and frankly, it’s embarrassing. Nevertheless, he’s pushing his face deeper against you and you can feel his face flush against your ass, like he doesn’t mind in the slightest, like it’s turning him on and that makes you even hotter.

He stops abruptly and you lift your head. He wipes at his mouth obscenely and then he’s standing. Slowly, he unbuttons his shirt. You lift onto your elbows and follow his fingers as deftly move across the fabric. You lick your lips automatically and hold your breath. His eyes never leave your face. His cock is straining against his slacks and it looks painful. It also looks huge and your mouth nearly waters in anticipation. You don’t know where you want it first.

You must show something on your face because he makes a strangled noise. “It’s taking all my willpower not to climb on top of you right now,” Eames says, tossing the shirt aside and working on his belt.

“I wish you would.” Your cock is twitching and he’s devouring every inch of your body just as you’re doing his. The dark lines of ink nearly make you come right then and there. He’s not well defined and that turns you on even more. You don’t need someone obsessed with a six-pack. No, Eames has light brown hair dusking his chest and tattoo over his left nipple and across his stomach and all you want is to run your tongue along the thick, defined lines.

“You wanted to look at me,” Eames reminds and runs his hand along the outline of his own dick before dropping his pants and stepping out of them.

“Do it,” you say and you’re not even sure what you’re referring but you’re pretty sure it has something to do with wanting to see his cock. Then he’s pushing his ridiculous boxer briefs down and his dick juts out, flushed and dripping and perfect against the thick nest of dark curls. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“Get the fuck over here now,” you order and feel drops of pre-cum trickle out the head of your cock.

He does, but it’s only to drop to his knees again on the floor and suck you in hard and fast and even though his mouth is possibly the best thing to exist, you want to feel his skin -- you want him all over you. “You taste so fucking good, do you know that?” Eames breathes against the base of your dick and licks down to your balls again. “Your cock. And your arse, bloody hell Arthur, your arse,” and then he’s inside you again and you push against his mouth and sob out moan after moan.

You refuse to come like this so you pull back, sit up, and grab roughly at his arms until he’s level with your face. “You’re gonna make me come, you asshole,” and take his lips in a harsh kiss, tasting yourself. He bites your lower lip and licks at you open mouthed and teasing and says, “S’the point.”

“Not yet,” you breathe and pull him down on top of you, finally feeling the slick heat of his skin and the weight of his cock as it presses against insistently against your own, creating unbelievable friction. You palm his ass and squeeze, experimentally. His hips stutter against yours and you feel his cheeks clench.

“Arthur,” sighs Eames, “do that some more,” and sucks hard at your neck, his teeth biting and his lips soothing. You grab onto him with both hands and squeeze his ass hard, rocking his body against yours. You let your fingernails dig in slightly and he hisses.

“Yeah, oh yeah,” he whispers and bites down hard at the juncture of your neck and shoulder blade. You rotate your hips beneath his weight and gasp as your dicks press tighter together, slipping and sliding and hot like a fucking furnace between you. You scratch along his ass and he moans louder with each touch. Given his reaction to your fingernails, you try something else.

Eames’ body jolts against you at the slap. “Oh you brilliant man, don’t you stop,” he exclaims. Eames starts rutting against you in earnest and then he bends his neck to pull your nipple into his mouth and you’re amazed that you have the capability to quip, “So that’s all it takes for me to be brilliant, eh?”

“No comment,” Eames mumbles, and you slap him again, just hard enough to sting. Eames lets loose a sob of pleasure; your bodies push together tighter with each slap and grip of his flesh. Eames’ breathing has grown shallow and he’s flicking at your nipple with his tongue at lightening speed. You hazily realize the pace of your hips has turned frantic and you’re almost gone.

“Fuck, Arthur,” he moans and licks up your neck, suckling open-mouthed at your jaw line. “Want to shag you but I can’t stop,” he sounds utterly frustrated; you share his pain. Because fucking would mean searching for condoms and lube you’re not even sure you have and preparation and too much fucking time when your bodies are thrumming with impending orgasm and your cocks are leaking and it all just feels too good to cease.

“Later,” you pant against his lips. “Later I’ll let you fuck me into the mattress,” and then you hook your ankle around his thigh and thrust against him with abandon. He’s still saying, “oh my god,” from your previous words that he doesn’t realize you’re throwing your head back and coming until you say, “now, Eames, please.” And then he’s all over you: his tongue in your mouth and his thumbs indenting against your hips and fuck, pushing you into the mattress and fucking against you like he wants to inside you and you shout as you climax. Eames’ hips jerk, once, twice and he’s still kissing you, licking deep into your mouth and fucking you with his tongue while moaning softly and grabbing your hand in his that’s still holding onto his ass and he just squeezes your palm in wild spasms. You feel the heat of his cum mix with yours against your stomach and when he finally releases your mouth, you say his name like a mantra.

“Mmm. Arthur,” he says, nuzzling at your neck. You realize you might have been saying his name simply to hear yours again in return.

He’s kind of suffocating you now and your stomach is a mess and you’re feeling claustrophobic. You’re about to shove him away; after all, this is a king size bed, but he moves first. Down your body, and, jesus christ, he laps at your skin, licking you clean.

“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Eames.”

He kisses your stomach, tenderly, and it makes you take pause for a second, before he looks up at you again, through hooded eyes. “Have I impressed you again, darling?’ His tone is dry and you snort.

“No comment,” you grin.

He drags his tongue and lower lip up your body, never taking his eyes off you, and your belly quivers. “What if I make out with you until I’m ready to fuck you ... would that surprise you?”

It rather would, actually. You assumed Eames would either fall asleep or take a shower, or both. Eames wanting to still kiss and touch you right away wasn’t something you calculated.

He’s hovering over your face now, and you reach out to touch lips that put Angelina Jolie to shame. “Only if you don’t do it,” you reply, not willing to give him the satisfaction.

He looks down at you, eyes clear, and leans in slowly. Your lips part in anticipation and when his lips descend, the kiss is soft, gentle, and fucking incredible. You close your eyes and sigh into it.

“Oh, I’ll do this and so much more,” and then Eames takes your mouth again, and kisses you so languidly and sensually that you realize you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into with this man and honestly don’t care. You wrap your arms around his back, angling your face upward, and decide to lose yourself in something tangible.

You can feel him smile against your lips as if he knows. Then again, he probably does.

[end]


End file.
